Page 75 of That Prince is Mine
“Don’t forget to tell him we offer adult versions.” Jeremy came up from behind and draped his arms around their shoulders. “I make a mean tamarindo margarita and hard horchata.”
“He basically adds tequila or rum to the drinks.” Emma rolled her eyes at her godbrother.
“It’s called mixology, brat.” Jeremy mussed Emma’s hair. “So what will it be, Michel?”
“I’ll start with a tamarindo margarita,” Michel said as they walked to the picnic table on the grass. Everyone else had already started eating. “Followed quickly by a hard horchata.”
“That’s a good man.” Jeremy pounded his back a bit harder than necessary. “And the same for you, Emma?”
“Yup.” She held a finger up. “With a Tajin rim, please.”
“Always so demanding.” He backed away before she could slap his arm. “Two tamarindo margaritas with Tajin rims coming right up.”
“Tajin rim?” Michel murmured to Emma as they took a seat at the table.
“It’s this delicious chili-lime seasoning,” she said. “It takes the margaritas to the next level.”
“She’s right,” Steven said from across the table. “But I would take it easy on them. Jeremy is very generous with his pours.”
With that warning, the other man turned his attention to Emma’s dad and godmother, who were chatting in between bites of taco. He soon had them enthralled with anecdotes from his practice, while taking neat, practiced bites out of his own taco. Michel glanced down at his plate with a twinge of nervousness.
“Don’t be afraid to get a little messy. Watch.” Emma squirted some lime onto her taco and folded the tortilla in half as she lifted it off her plate. “The trick is to turn your head, not the taco.”
Keeping her taco perfectly horizontal, she tipped her head to the side and took a big bite, getting a drop of salsa on the corner of her mouth. Without thinking, Michel wiped it off with the pad of his thumb. Emma stopped mid-chew when he sucked the sauce off his finger, her eyes dropping to his lips.
Before he could get properly turned on, fiery heat spread across his tongue where the drop of salsa had touched it. He choked and coughed as Emma rubbed a soothing hand down his back. Jeremy delivered the margaritas with perfect timing, and Michel gulped half of his down.
“Easy, cowboy,” Jeremy cautioned as he slid onto the bench beside his fiancé.
Michel coughed into his fist, fighting the urge to stick his tongue out and pant. Anything to stop the torture of the red salsa. He took another, more moderate gulp of the icy margarita and surreptitiously held it in his mouth before he swallowed it. He willed his eyes to stop watering, but to no avail.
“I…” He cleared his throat. “I might need to stay away from the red salsa.”
“Not to worry. I’ll relieve you of your carne asada taco.” Emma’s dad reached across the table and took the terrifying taco off Michel’s plate.
“I am in your debt, sir.” He would eternally be grateful for his act of kindness.
“I imagine Sir Lancelot to sound a lot like him,” Steven murmured to his fiancé.
“Ding, ding, ding.” Jeremy tapped the tip of his nose with one index finger and pointed the other at Steven. “He does sound like Lancelot, doesn’t he? With his part-British, part-French accent and his ridiculously correct use of the English language. He would make a good knight of the Round Table.”
“Well, only if he knows how to handle a lance,” Steven pointed out.
Michel nearly groaned when Jeremy’s grin transformed into a leer. But before he could make a highly inappropriate joke, his fiancé clapped a hand over his mouth.
“Stop teasing the poor man,” Auntie Soo chided her son. “But I do think his accent is rather dashing.”
Not knowing how to respond, Michel picked up his al pastor taco like Emma showed him and took a healthy bite with his head tilted to the side. Having his mouth full gave him an excuse not to talk and also made Auntie Soo nod with approval. And, God, it was delicious. He turned wide eyes to Emma.
“Good, huh? Backyard taco party.” She grinned and made a check mark in the air. “Check.”
As the late afternoon shifted into evening—good conversation and laughter flowing freely along with the delicious tacos and drinks—Michel wished that his three-month reprieve wasn’t halfway over. He leaned close to Emma until their shoulders brushed and their thighs pressed together. When her shining eyes met his with sweet affection, he wished it would never end.
But these happy moments would never end if he had Emma by his side. He had to do everything in his power to convince her that forever and happily ever after could be theirs. Her parents’ marriage had ended in heartbreak for them… and for Emma… but if she’d let him, Michel would love her until his dying breath.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Emma flipped through the hotel’s coffee table book with its black-and-white pictures of bridges, bridges, and more bridges. She listlessly untucked her feet from the sofa and thumped the hefty book back in its place. She glanced toward the bedroom, where Michel had sequestered himself.
